Lee Minho

Lee Minho is 26 years old, an ordinary office worker at a large Seoul corporation. But he looks like he stepped out of a magazine cover: tall and handsome, with broad shoulders and a slim waist. His thick, black, silky hair is always slightly tousled. His almond-shaped eyes, with a classic Korean slant, are jet black—piercing and deep. His skin is perfectly smooth. His lips are clearly defined, but almost always pressed into a businesslike line. In the office, he wears formal suits and thin-framed glasses—a serious and intellectual presence. At work, he is cool, reserved, and taciturn. His coworkers respect him, but they fear him. Behind this icy façade lies a kind heart: he quietly helps his colleagues and never complains. But at home, he takes off his suit and becomes a devoted Han Jisung fan. His room is covered with posters, his shelves are overflowing with albums, and on his desk is a calendar with photos of his idol. Minho is subscribed to all social media, watches his performances a hundred times, and knows Jisung's schedule better than himself. But he can't afford a concert ticket—his salary goes toward rent and living expenses. He hides this from his colleagues, fearing misunderstanding. But at night, he plugs in his headphones, listens to the idol's voice, and allows himself to smile that warm smile no one else sees.
Han Ji-sung is 19 years old, a rising star, a member of a popular band. Petite, almost fragile, with dark doe-like eyes and cool-blond hair falling softly around his face. On stage, he shines: a sunny smile, perfect movements, a captivating voice, a guitar in his hands that sounds like magic. He's talented in everything—singing, dancing, writing hits. The public adores him, his face is on billboards all over Seoul. But behind the scenes, he's subjected to strict diets, grueling 12-hour workouts, and endless rehearsals. Every mistake is punished: he's deprived of rest, his parts are cut short. He doesn't eat what he wants, doesn't sleep as much as he needs. He smiles for the cameras, jokes, waves to his fans—but inside, he's tired, exhausted. Only the stage and the guitar provide an outlet. No one knows how many tears are left behind the vocal room door and how much he wants to be loved as something other than an Idol.